


The Boy in the Bubble

by redscudery



Series: Miracle and Wonder [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 221B Ficlet, Anonymous Sex, Bisexuality, Blood and Injury, Captain John Watson, Coming Out, Crushes, Death, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, Masturbation, One Night Stands, Oral Sex, Pre-Canon, Secret Crush, Vignette, or rather not coming out, so much unrequited bisexual masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-30
Updated: 2014-09-30
Packaged: 2018-02-18 19:28:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2359604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redscudery/pseuds/redscudery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For John Watson, coming to terms with his own bisexuality is a long-term process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Way We Look

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long, lanky exchange student is giving John cause for concern.

“You know, you look at him weird.”

“I do?”

“You’re not a poofter, are you?”

“No. You know I snogged Jessica Ryan at Tim’s last party.”

“Then why are you staring at him?”

John looked at Jason’s concerned face and felt a flush rise to his ears.

“I’ve never met anyone from France. He’s just interesting.”

“Just don’t turn gay on us.”

“Fuck off.”

“I will. Directly to Maths, because Tanner’ll have my head if I’m late again.”

John shook his head and headed for the rugby pitch. He had so snogged Jessica, and it had been wet and messy and so exciting he’d wanked in the loo right after. And yet every time he looked at Laurent Roussel, or thought about him, he felt itchy.

“John!” Oh no, John thought. Why now? He pulled his shirt out over his football shorts, just in case, and composed his face. Not gay. I know I’m not gay.

“Hi, Laurent!”

“John, have you the homework for biology? I don’t write it down and you know MacRae is scaree. He call me ‘Franch eeedjit!’ if I don’t finish.” Laurent was grinning, his hazel eyes bright with mischief.

“’Course,” John tried to sound nonchalant, though he couldn’t quite breathe, “After practice?”

“Thanks, mec,” Laurent said, pushing his hair out of his eyes, “no. Thanks, buddy!”


	2. Soldiers by the Side of the Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For some reason, John wants "comrades in arms" to mean something entirely different when it comes to James Sholto.

Captain James Sholto. Stupid bastard, with his tallness and his eyes and his face, John thought. It’s Laurent Roussel all over again, except this time, I can’t wank in private.  
“You alright, mate?” Sholto asked. He was sitting right at John’s feet, and John enjoyed the novelty of having to look down to see him. It did, unfortunately, mean Sholto’s head was right by John’s crotch.  
“Yeah, of course.” John said, stretching his legs out and kicking Sholto’s shoulder. Sholto didn’t move, just sat, solid. John kicked him again, this time on purpose.  
“Giant waste of space.”  
“Midget.”  
“That’s Lieutenant Midget to you, arsehole.” John said, giving enough snap to his voice to make Sholto react. Sholto didn’t disappoint; he smiled lazily, his clear eyes almost disappearing as his face crinkled up in the sun.  
That night, John dreamed that they were still on the rock, but Sholto was in civilian clothes, taller than ever in snug jeans. John himself was pinning Sholto down; Sholto was hard and foreign underneath him, erection pressing into John’s hip and his mouth insistent on John’s.  
John awoke to a heavy, demanding weight in his groin, and, damning the openness of the bunks, reached down to grasp his cock in his hand. He came almost instantly, quietly, his mind recreating the pressure of Sholto’s body.


	3. Falling

“They’re gone, John. Gone.” Sholto collapsed in front of him, blood from his scalp dripping down over his forehead, staining along the spots of the camouflage. John dropped to his knees and grabbed Sholto’s shoulders, trying for eye contact. Sholto shook his head, trying to tear himself away, but John held him steady.  
After a moment, Sholto dropped his head to John’s shoulder, not crying, just gasping, horrible and dry. John held him, pulling him close and taking in the heat of his skin, the roughness of his uniform, the sharp smell of blood. He pressed his hand to the back of Sholto’s neck, knowing the skin-to-skin contact would help bring him to himself.  
And then Sholto leaned into his touch.  
It took all the courage John had not to pull back, but he didn’t. Sholto took a shuddering breath and moved even closer. John felt a brush on his neck. Lips. After the tiniest hesitation, he relaxed against it, letting himself slip or a moment.  
Everything slowed. John saw each individual dust mote in the air. He felt each pulse of his heart fill his cock and, dazed, let the arousal sweep over him. Sholto’s lips moved again and John held him closer, his hands lingering.  
“You, John.”  
“It’s okay,” John said, and bent to kiss him, sweet and brief.


	4. Jumpstart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has had to leave Sholto behind with many questions still unanswered. Back in London, he puts theory into practice.

So this was how it would be; John had never thought of it this way, this impersonal slide of bodies. He still reached out, though, finally laying hands on a cock that wasn’t his own.  
It was so very like his own, though, down to the sleekness of the skin on the head and the salt bead at the tip. It was gratifying how fast the drop came, and John felt an answering pull in his own groin. He watched, feeling almost disembodied as the other man’s hand slipped beneath the waistband of his pants and grasped him. Not so different, and good, good.  
It had been surprisingly easy, really. A little internet research, a couple of emails, and now here he was, almost naked, with a man’s cock in his hand and a man’s hand on his cock. He dropped his head forward on the other man’s—what was his name again? Sean? Mark?—shoulder and concentrated on moving his hand along the shaft. A quick swipe of his thumb made the other man moan, and John did it again.  
He tried not to picture this being Sholto, but as his pleasure rose, he remembered the weight and heat of Sholto’s body against his. The image lighted a spark in him, and he groaned, collapsing against the other man’s breastbone.


	5. A Distant Constellation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's bisexuality has never been more difficult to bear now that he's moved in with Sherlock.

It was no surprise, really, when John fell back into bed that first night with his mind full of Sherlock. The moment he had heard the offhand “Afghanistan or Iraq?”, he’d been intrigued; from the moment he’d heard “Want to see some more?” growled out in that deep voice, he’d known he was doomed to a frenzied, unrequited crush. On Sherlock Holmes, no less, who was married to his work.   
John sighed and rolled to his stomach. It was almost worse, now, after that faceless experience. He knew what he was missing, knew the feel of two cocks pressed together, of hot, silky hardness under his hands. He wondered what Sherlock would taste like, from his ivory neck to his probably criminally neglected cock.   
John ground his own insistent erection into the mattress. The friction against the sheets was good, but nowhere near enough. He stayed in that position, though, teasing himself with the mental image of Sherlock unbuttoning those impossibly expensive shirts, pulling the tails out of his trousers to reveal a hard ridge. John saw himself kneeling down in front of Sherlock, and, without ceremony, freeing his erection and sliding it into his mouth, salty and sleek on his tongue.   
When John turned over, finally, his hands were efficient but disappointing, and he lay in the darkness, somehow bereft.


End file.
